Lessons in Understanding
by writerdot
Summary: "So we're both screwed up." Sequel to Cannonball  Breaking Point .


This is a sequel to my continuation of blackmare_9's fic "Cannonball."

Lessons in Understanding

He hasn't slept a wink.

Images keep going through his mind like shattered glass, broken, splintered and painful. The more that he tries to stop and clear his mind, the more they come unbidden.

But the one that comes most frequently is that of the look on Wilson's face as he walked away from him at that pool.

House closes his eyes tightly and presses his fingers to them in an irrational attempt to try and drive the images away.

It doesn't work.

Wilson, he knows, has put up with a lot from him over the years and House, even after Wilson's reassurances earlier, can't help but think over all of them and wonder…

Why?

Wilson had told him that he cared about House. That House was his friend…but how can that be enough for anyone to stay and take the constant punishment that House has been doling out?

House knows he's a bastard, knows he's a pain in the ass, an addict and an apparently crappy boyfriend. He'd tried so hard to be who Cuddy needed him to be and he couldn't even do that right. There was always something else he needed to do to keep her and he'd tried to do everything she asked, because she'd helped him to throw away the Vicodin once….he'd needed her to help him stay away from it.

And that hadn't worked either. He'd needed Vicodin when he was with her, because that is just who he is. He remembers the night he finally went to go see her in the hospital, before that when he was in his office, staring at the orange bottle in his hand and when he decided that one couldn't hurt. Just one was all he needed to help Cuddy get through this one thing…

But it hadn't stopped at one pill. And Cuddy had left him.

In the hotel, he'd wondered what he had left, who would want to be with him, who wouldn't want to try and change and fix him, only to have it blow up, not only in his face, but the masochist who tried to do it. So he'd slept with the hookers, women who didn't know him or his history.

Then, he remembered Wilson.

Wilson, who had offered to let House move back in with him. House remembers that for one, split, tiny, second, he had wanted to say yes….until he'd looked at Wilson's face and realized that the only reason Wilson was asking was out of pity and he knew that if he was going to live with Wilson again, he didn't want it because Wilson simply felt sorry for him. So, he'd attempted, once again, to shove Wilson away.

And when he'd felt himself falling toward that pool, the euphoria that he'd felt in those seconds faded as he saw Wilson's face, the disappointment and restrained fury.

'This is it,' he'd thought, watching Wilson turn and walk away, 'This is where he finally leaves…'

He'd climbed out of the pool, changed his clothes and sat slowly on his bed. Then suddenly, before he'd known what he was doing and how much time had passed, he was knocking on Wilson's door.

He'd held his breath, knew that Wilson was home, he'd seen his car out front, and that if Wilson chose not to open that door then their friendship was most assuredly over.

But Wilson had opened the door. He hadn't said anything, hadn't looked at him, but Wilson had still chosen to walk over and open the door, probably knowing that House was the one who'd kept calling and would be showing up at his door when he didn't answer.

House breathes slowly and brings himself back to the present, out of his memories and thoughts. Then he sits up, carefully, because of his leg, reaches over and grabs a paper and pencil.

*****  
"You look like hell."

Wilson sits slowly in front of him on the coffee table and House is glad he'd finished what he'd been writing earlier, before Wilson woke up.

"Gee, thanks, buddy," House says cheerfully. "Because I think you look like sunshine and roses….and by that, I mean that you would if you didn't look like someone had gone after those bags in your eyes with purple and black markers."

Wilson shrugs with a small smile, because they both know that if anyone was going to go after Wilson's face with markers, it would be House. "Couldn't sleep."

"Well, me neither. You should really make us some coffee."

Wilson snorts and gets up, running a hand through his hair as he does, and a few minutes later, there's the comforting smell of coffee invading the apartment.

House looks under the blanket thrown across his legs, at the folded piece of paper sitting on his lap next to the orange bottle that he'd pulled from his jeans pocket a few minutes before Wilson had come out from his room. He pops one pill, and stands up, grabs his piece of paper and limps over to sit, a little uncomfortably, on a stool at the island in the kitchen.

Wilson is leaning against the counter, his arms propped on the top, his eyes glued to the coffee maker as it brews.

"You know, watching it doesn't make it go faster."

Wilson's start makes House's lips lift at the corners in small triumph as Wilson turns around and crosses his arms over this chest.

"Maybe I'm hoping my telepathic powers will come in and give us our coffee faster."

"And how's that going for you?"

"Is there a coffee mug sitting in front of you?"

"So…not well, then."

Wilson laughs a little and a comfortable silence, one that hasn't been around them in a really long time, settles around the kitchen.

But House decides he needs to break it. "What did you do for your birthday?"

Wilson looks at him, startled, but this time, it's in his face and in the way he tightens his arms across his chest defensively. "What?"

"This year…what did you do for your birthday this year?"

The look on Wilson's face makes House think that he's waiting for a punch-line, but when one isn't forthcoming, Wilson shakes his head slowly. "I…went out with my parents. They bought me dinner."

"We didn't do anything."

Wilson shrugs. "You were busy with Cuddy and Rachel….House, why are you asking me this?"

"Because it's on my list and I realized…I realized it's something I didn't have an answer for."

Wilson is slanting his eyes at him. "I'm going to regret asking this later…I know it, but what list?"

Instead of answering verbally, House takes his paper, unfolds it and slides it across the island top.

Wilson glances at him wearily before pushing himself off the counter and coming to stand directly across from House. He takes the piece of paper and reads a line or two. Then he looks at House, shock and bewilderment all over his face.

"House, is this…"

"A list of everything bad that's happened in our friendship over the last twenty years," House responds with false bravado. "Yep."

Wilson just shakes his head. "I don't even remember half of these."

"I do."

"Why?"

"I asked you last night what your breaking point was."

"And I told you that you're stuck with me…have you been waiting for me to walk away for _twenty years?"_

House shrugs, but doesn't answer and Wilson seems to take that as one. He rubs his hand over his face and sinks down onto a stool. "You just don't get it."

"I tried to tell you that last night before you decided that we needed sleep…sleep, by the way, neither one of us got, anyway."

Wilson is silent for a moment, then sighs and says softly, "Have you asked yourself, at all, why you stick around with me?"

"What?"

Wilson grabs the list and holds it up. "This isn't a list of everything bad that's happened in our friendship, House. This is a list of everything _you've _done wrong over the course of our friendship."

House thinks he really needs that coffee now. "Afraid I'm not following you, Wilson."

"You know," Wilson says, and House is sure he detects a hint of …something in Wilson's tone he's almost afraid to think about. "For such a monumentally smart man, you can be incredibly stupid."

"Maybe you could enlighten me as to what the hell you're talking about."

Wilson leans forward. "You're not perfect, House. And neither am I, as we discussed last night. How about putting the time I lied to you about not curing a patient to teach you a lesson. Or the time I kicked you out of this place to make room for someone else. Or the endless times I've lectured you or the time I…"

"I get it," House snaps. "So, we're both screwed up."

Wilson glances back into the living room, where Sarah is curled up on a recliner…then House sees Wilson's gaze slide to the coffee table, at the orange bottle sitting there and Wilson says slowly, "Yes."

House follows his gaze and they both look at it before turning back to each other.

"I don't think…" House says hesitantly. He looks at Wilson briefly, sees understanding there and looks down at his hands sitting on the counter top. "I don't think I can give it up just yet."

"Okay," Wilson says simply.

House can't stop the thoughts running through his brain then: _Okay. Wilson just said okay…he didn't try to lecture or anything he just said 'okay.'_

"You're not going to demand when and lecture me about the bad things Vicodin does and all the other crap you've lectured me about before?"

"You know all the bad things Vicodin does to you," Wilson counters. "As for the rest…we'll figure it out as we go along….Just promise me something, House. I know you were looking for something to excite you, but, for the love of whatever sanity I have left, no more jumping off balconies and making me fear that you're falling to your death, okay?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Wilson nods slowly and takes that as House means it.

"I have just one more question for you."

"Hmm?" Wilson hums as he pours them both coffee.

"When you asked me to move in…did you do it because you felt sorry for me?"

Wilson seems to think about that for a second as he stirs sugar into his cup. "I felt sorry that you're back on Vicodin, that Cuddy was gone...did I ask you because I felt pity for you? No."

House nods slowly and sips his coffee. "Okay."

That comfortable silence is back and House likes how it feels, and he allows his ravenous thoughts to come through his mind again….thought they are at a slower pace and don't make him feel like his head his about to split open. He allows them to spin, swirl and coalesce and House realizes Wilson's at the forefront of those thoughts. He tries to decide what to do about that, whether he needs to just accept that Wilson will most likely always be at some corner of his mind, when it occurs to him that, yes, Wilson will always be there. Which is exactly what the man has been trying to tell him.

House takes a deep breath and cautiously allows himself to look at his best friend….really look at him, in a way he hasn't ever dared to before. He allows himself to reflect on the tone Wilson's voice had taken earlier and he knows, now, what it was.

Affection.

Wilson's eyes are smiling at him and Wilson says, "Get it, yet?"

Houses searches Wilson's eyes one more time, lest the feeling he's been searching for since Cuddy said goodbye gets away from him. He doesn't care, in that moment, about anything bad. He can't, not when Wilson is looking at him like that and he's finally allowing himself to see it…not when pieces to a twenty year puzzle are finally starting to fall into place.

And maybe, just maybe, he can finally believe Wilson and believe _in _Wilson and hold onto this feeling for however long he needs.

"I'm beginning to."


End file.
